Man vs. Dog

Since we’re on the subject of telling all my business, I have another confession. I got a dog because I couldn’t keep a man. My ex, Jeremy, had just cheated on me for the 100^th time and I was devastated. In an attempt to rescue herself from my super stank and unpredictable attitude, my roommate suggested that we go to a pet store and play with the puppies. There was just one problem – I was deathly afraid of dogs! (I’ve probably told this story before, but so what? Humor me!) But, at that point, I was desperate to do whatever anyone suggested in an effort to improve my station in life. I was depressed, dejected and felt disrespected. I figured things couldn’t get any worse, so I might as well go with her to check things out.

Now, it had never been on my agenda to get a dog. My mom wouldn’t let me have one growing up because she knew that she would be the one that would end up caring for the animal even though I would’ve been responsible for bringing it into our household. She wasn’t having it. Between my demanding, high-maintenance father, my inconsistent brother, my needy self, and the little time that she managed to squeeze in for personal care, she had enough on her plate. So, I didn’t grow up with pets and I was afraid of them. I was afraid of dogs because I believed them dangerous but also because I wasn’t interested in sharing space or attention and I was lazy. I’m telling you all this to point out the fact that I never intended to end up with a dog.

Then I met Jeremy and, if I’d had any foresight, I would’ve realized he was a dog himself! He came from a different planet than me. I’m not talking Mars and Venus here; it was more than that. When I first met him, he told me that he didn’t have a checking account. I didn’t understand that. He worked for the federal government. I’d interned for the federal government the previous summer making a whopping $10 per hour and they certainly told me that their preference was to direct-deposit my check, which I was fine with because if it meant that I would have access to my money more quickly, then I was a fan. Of course, I knew that not everyone had direct deposit. Clearly, there were some people who elected a paper check, although I just assumed that it was because they were stuck in the previous century… it never occurred to me that it was because they didn’t have a checking account!

When I asked Jeremy his reasons for foregoing a checking account he said he used to have one but the bank kept “messing with my money”. Huh? Later, I would learn that his distrust of financial systems was inherited. One weekend morning, he came to pick me up for brunch, but on the way told me that he had to stop to pay his grandmother’s electric bill. I’m thinking to myself, You can pay utility bills in person? Interesting! I figured there must be some sort of self-service center for PEPCO that I’d never noticed. So, imagine my surprise when he pulled up outside of a liquor store. Liquor? Before noon? Okay. I decided I wouldn’t immediately judge because I had definitely enjoyed my fair share of breakfast cocktails.

“Why are we stopping at a liquor store?” I asked.

“I told you. I have to pay my grandmother’s electric bill.”

Come again? Paying bills at the liquor store?

I had to see this. So I unbuckled my seatbelt and followed him inside. He handed over the little payment slip that PEPCO sends with the bill, and then handed the cashier some cash. The cashier processed it in some kind of antiquated computer system, and then provided him with a receipt, and then we were done. That shit was outrageous to me. How do you know that the money is really going to get to PEPCO? Why wouldn’t you just send your payment directly to PEPCO by check?

I asked this last question to Jeremy and he informed me that, surprise, surprise, his grandmother didn’t have a checking account either! Now I felt like I was floating in the Twilight Zone or some shit. Especially since my own grandmother was notorious for putting a $25 check into every birthday card I’d ever received until I turned 26 and she upped the amount to a very extravagant $26. Every year since I’ve received a check equal to my age in dollars. I mean… this just didn’t make sense to me. EVERY adult I knew had a checking account. So… I was disturbed after discovering that Jeremy hailed from a long line of people who were frightened of the bank!

My mother’s words were ringing in my ears: “When you marry someone, you don’t just marry them, you’re also marrying their family. Make sure know what you’re getting into.” Could I really be okay with marrying into a family that was so quaint that they’d never used an ATM? What if we had kids and they were also scared of checks? I don’t think I could stand it.

Despite my reservations, I ignored all that and decided to carry on with Jeremy as if I never knew about his bank-phobia. At least he had a savings account and I’m sure that I could convince him to eventually open a checking account. *fingers crossed*

Jeremy also spent a lot of time at his grandmother’s house, which was in a “bad” neighborhood and closely resembled a shack. But here’s the thing – there were about fifty-eleven people living there, including granny, two aunts named after fruit (Peaches, Cherry, etc.), a crackhead uncle (literally) who was always trying to sell me something ridiculous like a showerhead or a smoked ham (oh, I’m not joking!), two cousins, a brother, and a “family friend”. Go figure! Between the fake flowers and cheap trinkets that junked up the living room and the plastic that covered every single piece of furniture, including the dining room table – YES, there was plastic encasing the freaking table – I was shocked that so many people could fit in that place, but more stunned that anyone would want to. His grandmother was polite to me, but I could tell that she was not happy about us dating. She thought I was “saditty”, and I guess I probably would’ve thought the same thing had I been on the outside looking in on my uncomfortable and judgmental facial expressions every time I felt I’d overstayed my welcome in the woman’s home, which for the most part was anytime over 5 or 10 minutes. This was his family and it was SO different from my own. And if I loved him – which I did down to my very soul – then I’d have to take them all, too. I respected Jeremy because I figured it took a real man to come from his hodge-podge background and still manage to make something of himself. So I bit my tongue, I compromised on my values and what I wanted in a man to make room for him in my heart. But let me tell you, lovies, whenever you settle for less than what you want, you always end up with less than what you settled for.

To whit, when Jeremy cheated on me with a hood rat the size of an elephant for what was possibly the third time in three years, I really shouldn’t have been surprised. Turns out that he’d been in a relationship with her even before he met me. So, actually little ol’ me was the “other woman”. Ain’t this a bitch?

Look, I’m bougie. Now, whether or not that’s a good thing is debatable. I mean it in the best possible way in that I expect certain things from people like… oh, I don’t know… that they have a checking account! And, of course, now I realize that perhaps I should’ve seen from Jump Street that Jeremy was never going to live up to my expectations, but I tried to ignore that, I really did. But what did I get in return? Check this out:

“Things with her are just different than things are between me and you. It’s like, with you everything is so easy. But me and her, we come from the same place. With her, we started at a time when things were really bad in both our lives, so we have a stronger bond.” Um… okay.

Yep, THAT is what I got.

Well, I was sick about it. I mean, don’t get me wrong – there was obviously a lot of other stuff going on between Jeremy besides plastic furniture, overcrowded houses, and a lack of a checkbook… I’m certainly not saying that his background was the reason he did what he did. That had very little to do with anything. But the issues I’ve pointed out were little things that bothered me enough to question our future and things that I had chosen to ignore for the sake of having a man. And instead of earning his respect, he resented me for it. Me and my background were just too different for him, so he flocked together with a true BIRD of his feather. Great. I was mad – at the situation, at Jeremy, but most of all, at myself.

Rewind to me and my roommate in this pet store and there’s a cute little MinPin with a fat belly sitting in a cage with two much larger dogs. When he saw me, he pushed past them and stuck his snout through the holes in the cage. I reached in tentatively (remember, I was afraid of him!), held him in my arms and fell in love. Jeremy tried to reconcile, but as the saying goes… fool me once, shame on you, fool me three times, and if I take you back, I’m the damn fool. Okay, that’s not how the saying goes, but it’s fitting for the circumstances. So, I could’ve had Jeremy, but instead, I got Capone. Like I said, I’d never intended to get a dog, but a woman betrayed is looking for consistency, stability, and loyalty, and where better to find all that than in an animal known as “(wo)man’s best friend”? It was love at first sight for me and Capone and from moment one a bond was forged. I’ve been his main woman for 10 years now and he holds me down, let me tell you. And despite the fact that we come from different backgrounds (he doesn’t have a checking account either!), he’s stuck by me and loved me unconditionally.

When Jeremy contacted me about five years after we broke up to tell me that he was getting married and having a baby, but the mother of his baby is not the woman he was marrying (yep, you read that right), I surprised myself by being shocked. I’m not sure why I allowed myself to be thrown off by anything he said, but I think more than anything it made me sad to see that so many years later he is still up to his old antics.

And that leads me to wrap up the story by saying this, dear readers: to call Jeremy a “dog” is an insult. The loyalty and respect that Capone has shown me over the years tells me one thing: Real men and even real DOGS don’t do the kind of shit Jeremy does. Which lets me know that I chose wisely.

what a girl wants

First up, can I get a handclap of praise for the fact that I actually posted twice in one day?! That’s more than I’ve done in most months. How awesome is that?! I’m going to try not to be lazy and claim these as my two posts for this week. Hopefully, I’ll come up with something good for you by Friday at least. *fingers crossed*

I had no clue when I started writing this post that it would turn into a profession of affection for my dad. But as difficult and frustrating as he can be, I do love the man! So I guess it’s only natural that my love for him would shine through in this post. He’s great and has a lot of wonderful qualities... and, after doing this list, I realize now that his good qualities far outweigh his “bad” ones. Huh. Go figure.

A few weeks back, a friend and I were chatting about our fathers. Our mothers and how much we love them are a daily discussion, but every once in awhile, one of us will bring up our fathers. Well, this time the conversation was more interesting because we were talking about how our relationships with our fathers are the foundation for all other relationships we develop with men in our lifetimes. I was talking about my own dad and made a comment about how there are things about my dad that I love and will seek in a mate and things about him that I find incredibly annoying and will likely end up being deal-breakers for me in my romantic relationships.

My friend, always thoughtful, decided to write a blog post about what she wants in a man and how those wants relate to her father's personality/character, and she recommended that all her readers do the same.

This will be hard, but... Here goes!

Spiritually Grounded: I know that some men cringe when they see God-fearing at the top of a woman’s “list”. They are afraid that the woman might beat them over the head with a Bible and – God forbid – be a prude in the bed. I get those concerns. I really do. But lemme just say that I think a man that has a genuine and legitimate relationship with a higher power is incredibly sexy! The fact that a man can admit that there’s something out there greater than himself, to me, is such a manly and mature thing. My father has always had a relationship with God. My father’s oldest brother always marvels at the fact that my father, as a teenager/young adult, would get on his knees to say his prayers every night and every morning even if he was dead-tired and, in some case, drunk. And there’s something to be said for the fact that every night before my parents go to sleep, they get on their knees to pray. Even though my father has had both of his hips replaced, he still kneels and shows reverence to God. I love that about him. When he doesn’t know the way out of a particularly sticky situation, he prays his way through it. When he needs answers, he consults the Word, and asks other men and women of faith for their advice. And when he’s being insufferable (more about that in a later post), he gets himself in check by reminding himself of the spirit behind WWJD (what would Jesus do?). I can remember being afraid to sleep in the bed at night and my father getting his big Catholic Bible with the renaissance art illustrations, and reading me verses to help strengthen my faith. I appreciated that even then, and I know that in his heart he is a good man guided by principles and a finely-tuned moral compass. I’m looking for that same passionate faith in my partner. It doesn’t have to be MY God that a man chooses to acknowledge (although that would get him brownie points), but a belief in a benevolent and superior spiritual being is certainly a requirement of mine.

Loyal: My mom once told me that despite the fact that she and my dad have had their ups and downs in their relationship that’s spanned more than three decades, the one thing she has NEVER had to worry about was infidelity. My father is a loyal man. He never once spent a night away from us without our knowing where he was and what he was doing. He didn’t keep secrets. He didn’t maintain inappropriate friendships/relationships with other women. He just might be the last faithful man walking this planet. I have been betrayed by so many men in my lifetime and I just don’t want to feel that ever again. I can deal with any other challenge, but don’t dog me out behind my back. I hope that really, if my future mate can’t live up to anything else on my list, my father’s unwavering LOYALTY will be the one thing he chooses to emulate.

Intelligence: My dad has to be THE most intelligent person I've ever encountered. And I'm not biased. Ask anyone who knows him - he's damn there a genius. And he, of course, knows it. Which can be annoying. But he instilled in me a love for intelligent people. As a result, I'm allergic to dumb people. They make my skin crawl. Education is important (I'll touch on that later), but innate intelligence – even in the absence of formal education – earns a place at the top of my list when it comes to my ideal man.

Educated: Now, look. Before anyone jumps down my throat about this, please recognize that for most people in this country – except in the case of athletes, models, rappers, and actors (see Puffy/P. Diddy/Diddy Dirty Money for reference) – being educated is the key to success. It just is what it is. And in my house, education was a priority right up there with godliness and cleanliness. And, no wonder. My father was the youngest of 10 kids. My grandfather died when my dad was 4 and he probably had little to no schooling in his lifetime. My grandmother, a domestic worker, didn't make it past 6th grade. Out of his 9 brothers and sisters, my dad was the only one to make it to college. But not only did he make it there, he made it there on a full scholarship (obvi my grandma couldn't afford college tuition off her $32/week salary!), worked the ENTIRE time, pledged a fraternity (which was nothing but distractions and shenanigans even back in the olden days when he was pledging!), got a master's degree, and then copped a Ph.D. And he did all that before he was 28 years old. So, when dudes come to me talking all that riff raff about how school is “not for me", and/or, start making excuses about how they didn't have the "opportunity" to go to college, I look at them like they're buggin. I'm not buying it. If my black "underprivileged" dad could do it during Jim Crow, then you can do it now. No ifs ands or buts about it.

Disciplined: I am not a disciplined person. It’s something that I’ve been working hard at my whole life and I haven’t managed to master it, but to my father, it comes naturally. My father was a drinker, smoker, and heavy eater. He found out he had diabetes when I was in high school and decided he didn’t want to have to be on meds, so he went into healthy-eating mode, got his diabetes under control, and was able to cut his medication almost completely. Both of his hips were replaced and he even surprised his doctors by how quickly he was able to heal, but the doctors recommended that he do certain exercises daily, and he did them DAILY… without fail. He became anemic and needed to up his iron intake. Someone suggested that he eat plantains to increase his iron naturally, he ate plantains every single day until his doctor told him his iron was at an acceptable level. He flosses his teeth EVERY SINGLE NIGHT before bed, and he kneels to pray in the morning and the evening every day without fail. That, folks, is called discipline. And it’s something that – once you’ve perfected it – permeates every aspect of your life. It’s why you don’t take sick days, why you pay your bills on time, why you’re able to afford that thing you’ve been wanting (because you consistently put away money for a rainy day and are determined not to touch it until it’s time), it’s why you’re faithful to your spouse, and why you’re successful in your career. That discipline is something I need my man to have. I won’t say that your partner should “complete” you (because you should already be complete when you come to your partner), but your partner should complement you. Where you are lacking, s/he should have abundance. Discipline is one thing I don’t have enough of and I hope that my partner will have enough to spare.

He's Gotta LOVE the HUSTLE: So, yeah, my dad was a professor for 30 years and that paid the majority of our bills. But my dad was fundamentally opposed to being late with bills, being cold during the winter, and being hot in the summer. There were also a few things that we just HAD to have as a family – a nice house in a safe neighborhood, decent cars in our garage, good schools, and vacations. But all these needs required one thing - MONEY. So you know what? My dad did what he had to do to make sure we could afford those things. That meant that he ALWAYS had more than one job. And he found JOY in going to work and providing for his family. He would NEVER dream of sitting at home and forcing my mom into being the breadwinner. And even if my mom insisted that he stay home while she worked, he would refuse. In his mind, that’s just not what a MAN would do. A MAN provides for his family. Plus, my dad just liked being busy. From the time I was a kid, he did a variety of things to bring in extra income. In addition to being a professor, he got published in newsletters, magazines, and newspapers; he opened a therapy practice with my mom; he owned a contracting/handyman service… and, yes, my dad with his Ph.D. and tenured professorship was tearing down drywall, and on his hands and knees fixing plumbing in other people’s homes just to make sure that he would never have to hear his kids say “I need…”. We had all of what we needed and most of what we wanted ‘cause my dad loved the hustle. It would be great if I could know that my man cringed at hearing me say “I need…”. If I could be certain that he would hold us down if need be, that he would find a way to make a dollar out of the proverbial 15 cents. Is that too much to ask?

Heart of a "Thug": Alright, now I KNOW that somebody is going to have to say something about this. But as much as I looooove a polished and professional man, he needs to know about “the streets”. Plus, I’m going to need him to NEVER be shook by another man. My dad is not tall… he’s actually only about 5’8” or 5’9”, but I never noticed that he was of average height because he never – and I mean NEVER – cowered in the face of another man. He's aggressive, no-nonsense, and fiercely protective, and to this day he can walk into any situation and demand respect... if not for his intelligence or business savvy, then for his ability to relate to people on all levels, from the dope slingers to the dignitaries. I always felt safe and protected when I was with my father and knew that he had my back in any and every situation and if I went to him with any issues, those issues would be handled. If I was afraid of anything he would always say "I won't let anything happen to you"... and I believed him, because I knew it was true. Today, my pops is the Chairman of the Deacon Board at my church, and that means he’s second in command, only behind the Pastor. He’s definitely a holy and dignified man, but to put it plainly, there was a time when my dad was a bit of a roughneck. As my maternal grandmother once said “Your daddy and Jesus weren’t always friends.” Bwahaha! But what she meant is that my dad, at one point, was not a man to be played with. He wore suits and cleaned up nicely, but in the streets, he was quick to let you know who’s boss. I’m not gonna go into detail because those of you who know my father don’t need to know the nitty-gritty, but just know that in his heart, my educated, God-fearing daddy is a thug... and I need a little bit of that from my future man. ‘Nuff said.

Pretty Boy Swag: Sorry for invoking this term, but just go on and blame Soljah Boy Tell ‘Em for this requirement. If you look at my dad now in all his gray haired glory, you might never know that my daddy was fly in his day, but he takes great pride in his hygiene and appearance. I remember at a band concert of mine in elementary school, my parents arrived a little late, and when they walked in, my daddy was wearing a white button-down shirt, navy blazer with gold buttons, a pocket square, slacks, and hard-bottom shoes. Now, mind you, he was a professor and called himself dressing for the classroom. And NOW I think that outfit was on point! But, back then, I wondered why he wasn’t rocking the golf shirt and rumpled khaki pant look all the other suburban dads were wearing. Today, I want a man that knows how to put two pieces of clothing together, a man that is neat and clean, a man that stands out from the crowd. All my exes have had their own unique personal style… good or bad (you be the judge), they owned it and I liked it. Personal style is important, but low on the list because it’s not a deal-breaker and, let’s face it, it can be developed over time.

Strong Features: This might sound crazy, but I love a prominent nose, strong facial structure, broad shoulders, thick eyebrows and eyelashes, full lips, etc. And, yes, my daddy (and my brother) has all that, too. Skin color, hair type, height (to an extent), etc., are a non-issue, but give me some thick eyebrows and a pair of full lips and I’m good!

This took a lot longer than expected, so I’m forced to pull a to-be-continued on you. I’ve told you all the qualities my dad has that I want in a man, and next up, I’ll share the things about my dad that NO man better come with a.k.a. DEALBREAKERS.

Maybe someday...

This week I had to make a really hard decision. For the last two years, I've chronicled the saga of my relationship with Mystery Man. And throughout it all, despite all my worrying and conjecture, he's remained elusive. So I decided to cut communication with him altogether. I had been holding on for so long because I truly at one point believed that he and I were friends. But then I realized that our interaction was sporadic. We barely spoke, and when we did, it was via BBM or text or something, we never really hung out or spent time together. After I did a quick rundown of our "relationship", I realized that I might've been a bit delusional in thinking that a "relationship", or even really a "friendship" ever existed between us.

And I also started asking myself why I would continue to run TOWARD a person that spent our entire "relationship" running AWAY from me. I wanted him, he didn't want me... it was a waste of time for us both. I got tired, and I realized that it was time for me to move on. But, in order for me to truly move on, I needed to stop talking to him. I needed to foreclose any opportunity to have access to him. So, I de-friended him from Facebook and deleted him from my Blackberry messenger contacts. When I write that down, it doesn't even seem like that big of a deal. Who cares about Facebook? Why do people even use BBM? I mean, so what, right? But, by me closing off those lines of communication - our primary means of contacting one another - I have basically closed the door on that chapter of my life. Without those means, we won't be in touch. That "relationship" is likely over for good.

I was tearful as I clicked "Remove from Friends" on Facebook. I didn't want to let go, but then I realized that if I was ever going to stop wasting energy on someone who expended NO energy on me, and eventually end up with someone who saw my value and worth, then I was going to have to go cold turkey, and end this thing once and for all. So that's what I did. I think...

I feel sad about it, but I also feel like I spent the majority of those two years chasing him, and ultimately never caught up. I feel like life is unfair because if you love someone THAT MUCH, they should be forced to love you back. I feel like a failure... like maybe I didn't try hard enough. Or maybe I wasn't pretty enough, or funny enough, or smart enough (although, this last part is not likely 'cause I'm damn smart! ha!)...

And most of all, I worry that I'll never find anyone to treat me the way I want to be treated or love me the way that I want to be loved because, up to now, it seems like my entire romantic life has been one big disappointment.

I didn't want to delete him from my life, but honestly, I just can't take being continually rejected. I can't take being largely ignored.

I'm better than that, I'm worth more than that.

What I want is someone who will give me their all. Who will love me at my worst, and deserve me at my best. Someone who is loyal and consistent. Who understands that I might not be the smartest girl in the room, the prettiest, the sexiest, or even the most congenial (doubtful! hehe!), but still looks at me with a twinkle in his eye because - to him - I'm as good as it gets.

I am into posting songs lately, and every time I hear this particular song, it makes me smile because THIS is precisely the way I wish someone would feel about me. I'm gonna let Kenny sing to ya for a bit so you can see what I mean. Maybe someday... maybe. Someday.

Here's hoping, girlies!

Kenny Lattimore - For You (Official Music Video). Watch more top selected videos about: Kenny Lattimore

And to reinforce the words, check out the lyrics:

For you I give a lifetime of stability
Anything you want of me, nothing is impossible
For you, there are no words or ways to show my love
Or all the thoughts I'm thinking of
Cause this life is no good alone
Since we've become one,
I've made a change
Everything I do now, makes sense
All roads end, all I do is for you

For you I share the cup of love that overflows
And anyone who knows us knows
I would change all faults I have,
For you there is no low or high or in between
Of my heart that you haven't seen
Cause I share all I have and am
Nothing I've said's hard to understand
All I feel I feel deeper still, and always will
All this love is for you

Every note that I play, every word I might say
Every melody I feel
Are only for you and your appeal
Every page that I write, every day of my life
Would not be filled with without the things
That my love for you now brings
For you I make the promise of fidelity
Now and for eternity
No one could replace this vow

For you, I'd take take your hand heart And everything
And add to them a wedding ring
Cause this life is no good alone
Since we've become one you're all I've known
And if this feeling should leave, I'd die
And here's why, all I am is for you
Everything i do now makes sense
All roads end, all I do,
Is for you

The Pursuit of Happiness

You know that the end of one year/beginning of another is always a time where I get reflective and introspective on this here blog. And this year is no exception. Here's a post on my little happiness project that I plan to apply in 2010. We'll see how far into the year I get before I abandon ship! Lol! Thinking back, I may have already done a very similar post in a year gone by, but I'm too lazy to confirm that, so if this is redundant, then please just take the repetition as a sign that I'm a zealous advocate for the point I'm trying to get across! Happy New Year, snitches... I'll see you in 2010!

I moved to NYC for one reason, and one reason only: because I thought it would make me happy. Before moving to NYC, I was profoundly UNhappy. And who wouldn’t have been unhappy living the life I was living? I was 30 years old, a resident of my parents’ house, still sleeping in my childhood room (albeit in a big girl bed!), governed by the house rules (curfews and sht), working a job that I couldn’t have cared less about, in a city that I was generally bored with. It was a miserable existence.

All of my visits to New York were mostly sunshine and rainbows, and it was the place where I felt the most alive. The most, authentic me (if you will) made an appearance every time I visited my friends there. And I liked the authentic me. I thought it’d be cool for the authentic me to stick around. And, so, after my 30^th birthday, I made it my business to become a resident of NYC. It was the first thing I affirmatively decided on my own without any influence from my parents, extended family, and friends. It was what I wanted to do and, whether it made sense or not, I was going to do it. I’d lived 30 years, and not very happily and this was my first step toward the happiness that I believed had eluded me for so long.

And so, I went. I found a job that I really like (I don’t love it, but I like it, and that’s enough for now. One hurdle at a time!), happened upon a decent roommate, and moved into a great space. So far, it’s been really good. But am I any happier than I was in DC? I’m not sure that I am. Now, I’ve only been there a couple of months, and I haven’t really had the time or the opportunity to explore the city the way I’d like to explore it. That’s part of it. But the other part of it is that I recognize that I’m me… authentic, real, unchanged… and I’m going to be just little old me no matter where I am located.

An acquaintance of mine tells this story of how she lived in DC all her life and knew that NYC was where she really wanted to be. Times got hard after grad school and she had to move back to DC and stay in her parents home, in her childhood room, and wait for months to receive a job offer from an employer in NYC. She was miserable while at home in DC. She was depressed, drank a lot, smoked a lot, didn’t eat. And when the call finally came, it was a job that she knew she would hate but because it would get her to NYC, she took it. She never looked back and is now, in the words of the all-knowing and all-wise Oprah, living her best life.

I guess, in a way, I thought I would have a similar story. And, maybe I will. After all, she worked that shitty job that got her back to the city for almost a year before she found one that she could stomach. And even after that, it took her about seven years to reach what is sure to be the pinnacle of her career. So, I’ve got a long road to travel (or maybe not so long at all… who knows?!) before I reach my final destination in my NYC life.

Or, maybe none of that will happen to me at all.

One of the reasons I was so drawn to Mystery Man is because at first glance, you can tell that he is a genuinely happy, content, secure, and settled person. I was attracted to that because I was none of those things. I wanted to get to know him… to delve into his personality and get inside his head to get a sense for how he managed to be so put-together all the time. Well, what I found out was that Mystery Man had problems just like the rest of us. There were times when he was sad, dissatisfied, flustered and uncertain. He was human… go figure. But what he explained to me, and this is something that I carry with me everyday, is that happiness is not a destination. He explained that it’s not about getting to a certain point in your life, and then you will be happy. It’s about deciding that you will be happy and then carrying on with the journey that is your life, carrying that happiness with you, and letting it shine through at every moment. That is how you live your best life.

There are times when you’ll hit roadblocks and obstacles and you’ll feel that if this is the best your life can offer, you’d like the opportunity to get back in bed, lie down, wake up, and start the day over again. But even in those times, you can choose to make the most of it. You can just make the decision to keep right on living your best life.

And the phrase “living YOUR best life” is important. That “your” makes it relative. What is your best life will not be the best life for someone else and vice versa. So, one of my New Year’s resolutions is to be sure not to compare my life to others. Some of my friends are doing really great, wonderful, downright FANTASTIC things. They’re experiencing some of the stuff I’d hope to be experiencing at this point in my life. But their path is different from mine. And my best life is going to look different from theirs. Not better, or worse… but different. And that’s okay.

I am writing this post from my parents’ couch. My office is closed from December 23 through January 4, so I actually had a winter break… a luxury I had not been privy to since graduating from law school. I decided to come back to DC to spend that time with my family and friends here, and was really looking forward to ringing in the New Year with friends at some crazy party. But, a day or two after Christmas, my ear started hurting, and then my throat started hurting, and then… I was officially sick. I headed to the doctor who told me that I had a very bad case of strep throat, and I was quarantined and put on a regimine of antibiotics. So, I’ll be ringing in the New Year from the couch, all alone… just me and the dog when 2010 finally gets here. Now, I could make the choice to be really pissed off about this. And, for awhile, not only was I pissed about my circumstances, but I also felt extremely sorry for myself and cried quite a bit. I’m not sure where the crying came from, but… tears did make an appearance.

Anyhoo, I now recognize that there’s nothing to be sad about. 2010 is upon us, and I lived to see it… in reasonably good health (strep throat isn’t the end of the world, after all… and thank God for penicillin!)! Many people can’t claim that victory. Plus, I’m employed, have a roof over my head, $20 in my pocket (okay… maybe a little more than 20!), a loving family, wonderful friends… these are all tremendous blessings! I am so grateful! And, while I’m still looking for love in all the (really) wrong places, and I’m not happy about my current status, I should make the choice to be happy about the fact that Mystery Man and I are exactly what we’re meant to be right now… great friends. He’s one of my biggest cheerleaders, and I his. We are there for each other, can discuss just about everything, and he’s just a great guy that I’m happy to know. For now, there ain’t no more to it. Fine. I’m happy anyway!

Maybe it’s time for me to just accept the fact that my life is what I make it. I mean, my friend could’ve lived her best life in her childhood bedroom, right in Washington, DC. I could’ve also chosen to do the same. Because happiness is not found in a place like NYC or DC or Atlanta or LA. Happiness isn’t found in another person. No, happiness is within YOU. Happiness is a choice… you have to choose it, in order for it to choose you.

So, on Thursday night when the clock strikes 12 midnight and 2010 is officially here in all of it’s glory, I’ll be in DC, holding it down live and direct from my mama’s couch, making a toast with my hot toddy, watching the ball drop… and I’ll be completely and totally happy about it all.

Happy New Year!!

The Shoe Game

This past weekend Bestie and I took a long overdue trip to the City to visit Jenna. We had an absolutely fab time! A good friend invited us to a white party on Saturday night, and even though I think white parties are lame (nobody has any business throwing a white party unless you’re name is Diddy and your venue is the Hamptons), I made a good effort to find a cute white dress and I recruited Bestie and Jenna to come along with.

Before I left Jenna’s apartment, I threw on a pair of gold flip flops and wrapped my heels in a plastic bag, which I tucked neatly in Bestie’s oversized handbag. I adore fashion just as much as the next chick, but I’m well aware that my feet have an expiration date and I can only rock out in heels for so long before I have to make the switch to a more comfortable pair of shoes.

We pre-gamed at this Moroccan restaurant that Jenna’s current boy-toy owns, and he kept our glasses filled (and didn’t charge us!). So, needless to say, by the time we made it downtown to the white party, we were a bit tipsy. It honestly never even occurred to me to change my shoes, and once I saw the early-birds at the party, I wasn’t impressed by anyone enough to be concerned about my footwear. I didn’t get any cell service in the venue, so I walked away from where Jenna, Bestie, and I had posted up near the bar and towards the hallway. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted two men checking me out, but I didn’t see anything particularly interesting about them so I continued on in my attempt to find a signal for my Crackberry. Just as I pass the duo, one of them leans down and says, “I hope your heels are in your bag, baby. I don’t know what’s wrong with all these women wearing flats. Y’all don’t believe in heels these days?”

This stopped me in my tracks. I turned and looked him up and down. He was wearing a white and turquoise Western style (think Cowboy) shirt, and a matching hat.

“You’re wearing a cowboy costume and you’re worried about me wearing FLATS?!,” I snapped. “You’re kidding me, right?”

He chuckled and I kept walking, but he got in my head. When I returned from checking my messages, I asked Bestie to hand over my heels and I slipped them on. By the end of the night, my feet were numb, but I endured the pain because I figured if that fool from earlier had a problem with women in flats, a lot of men probably did. And not that I was at the party to attract or pick up men, but... let’s face it - everybody wants to be attractive to someone and apparently this heel thing is a big deal!

When my book club read the Steve Harvey “Act Like a Lady, Think Like a Man” book, I got to the chapter of frequently asked questions and someone asked Steve whether men prefer women in flats or heels. His very enthusiastic answer basically said that men will choose heels every time and, in fact, he’d never even MET a man who would say that he preferred to see a woman in flats. He said that if men had their way, they’d even put heels on gym shoes. That’s how much it matters. My heart sank... I was really hoping that he’d say that it doesn’t matter. I’d like to think that Steve Harvey doesn’t speak for all men, but my gut says that he does.

I had a friend in law school who told me that she didn’t feel like she was dressed unless she had on a pair of heels, which I thought was ridiculous at the time, but she actually meant what she said. By the time we graduated from law school, I’d never seen her in anything less than a 2-inch heel. She took her shoe game very seriously, and I couldn’t be mad. In her heels, she looked like a grown-up, and I looked like her kid sister in my flats and sneakers.

I’m definitely the shortest chick in my crew and also the one most likely to wear flats. I have what some would call “bad feet”. They’re cute... I keep a pedicure (even in the winter... I hear some women slack in the winter time...) and my shoes are always cute, they just might not be HIGH. That’s because, for me, comfort is the top priority. When I go out, I like to be social, carefree, and I party hard. How can I do that when my feet hurt?! Impossible!

So, I’ll tell you my secret: I tend to carry large bags because I always have a change of shoes handy, and I have a cute pair of flats that are appropriate for every occasion! I love putting them on after I’ve been suffering in heels at some event and walking comfortably to my car while I watch other women hobbling along with pinched feet after a long night in stilettos. Don’t get me wrong, I feel bad for those women, but I’m proud of my foresight.

For instance, about a week ago, I’d been wearing a cute pair of heels at work, but when it was time to head out for lunch, I knew I wanted to try a new place that was a couple blocks away. I reached into the box of shoes I keep under my desk and slipped on a pair of flats to match my outfit. I walked past Starbucks and there was a young lady standing outside in a chic outfit and a haute pair of stilettos. She was propped against the wall in a pigeon-toed stance... you know that position you take when the balls of your feet hurt so bad, you’re trying to keep from toppling over?! Yeah... that stance. I looked at her and threw her a sympathetic smile as I skipped past in my ballet flats. Sure, she looked great in her heels, but I felt a whole lot better than she looked!

And then there was the time a few weeks ago when one of my girls ended our night early because her feet hurt too badly to carry on. We started at one end of the city and then got the invite to go downtown to check out the rooftop of the new W Hotel. My girl Pam was wearing a pair of streetwalking stilettos, which looked fierce, but also looked a bit masochistic. You could take one look and know that she wasn’t going to last long in them. Now, the W’s rooftop is arguably the sexiest spot in the city and we’d even been told that without a reservation we could NOT get in. Well, we didn’t have a reservation, but thanks to a friend of a friend we got in with no problems. When we got upstairs to the roof, we took in the beautiful view of the city, got a few overpriced drinks and commenced to people watching. There was a lot going on, the vibe was cool, the drinks were good (although overpriced) and everyone was having a great time. All of a sudden in the middle of things, Pam announces that her feet are hurting and she’d like to leave. Ordinarily, we’d blow air-kisses and send her on her way. Tonight, we’d all driven over to the W together, so we had to leave with Pam in order to get to our cars. Thanks, hooker heels, for ending our night before we’d even begun!

So, is this what it comes down to? Women must suffer in an attempt to try to attract the opposite sex? I rebuke that! But, sadly, I think it’s the truth. Men like women in heels. And they particularly like women in the most complicated, highest of high, most uncomfortable heels they can find. I’d like to tell you that if a man really likes you, he’ll like you regardless of the shoes on your feet, and I think that’s partially true. I know that even me - Miss Anti-Heels herself - will put on a pair of heels if I’m going out with a man because I feel like it formalizes the outing if I wear heels, like maybe he’ll notice that I put some effort into my appearance just because of what I’m wearing on my feet.

And one of the things that I hate to see more than anything is a woman hobbling along in heels, obviously uncomfortable, walking alongside her significant other who’s rocking sneakers. You like heels so much, but yet you’re wearing comfort footwear while I’m suffering next to you all to in an effort to appeal to you? Fck you, dude. Seriously. YOU put on some stilettos and traipse around in them all night and see how you feel. It’s just not fair! It just seems so shallow. But, then again, LIFE is not fair. *sigh*

An acquaintance of mine used to always say that stilettos were certainly created by a man. And not just ANY man, but a man who doesn’t like women. I’m going to have to agree. But I also have to admit that, despite the fact that I fight wearing heels tooth and nail, I recently bought my first pair of stilettos. I’m 30 now... it’s about time. They’re fantastic and REALLY high. But, hey, I hear “stripper-chic” is the new trend. And with these heels, I’ll fit right in. They’ll for sure make Cowboy (and other guys like him) proud.

A Million Little Pieces

I’ve been farting around at work all day and could’ve used this time to catch up on some blog posts, but instead I’m spending my time playing around on Twitter (check me owwt!) and Facebook. I gotta get focused.

This weekend, the Kappas took over my city for their Konclave and their presence made for quite the interesting weekend. On Wednesday, I received a text from Mr. Ex saying “Hey Brown Girl, I’ll be in town this weekend and was hoping you might be interested in having a drink with an old friend :)”. Um… a fcking smileyface?

Really?

Clearly this dude is off his rocker if he thinks that I’m going to voluntarily meet up with him and we’ll smoke the peace pipe together. Never gonna happen in a million years. I figured that Mr. Ex was coming to town because his older brother is a Kappa and they must have decided to make their way south for the Konclave festivities. I was disgusted that he AGAIN tried to reach out to me. But in a way, I was sort of glad that he had given me a heads up that he was going to be in town. As usual, I was out on the town with the Conglomerate (that’s what my friend Erica calls our little crew) for the whole weekend and knew there’d be a chance that I could run into him at any one of the parties that we hit up and that would’ve been uncomfortable for everyone since Mr. Ex regularly acts a fool at the most inappropriate times. And let’s not forget the time I ran into Mr. Ex’s brother on U Street during Inauguration… so I know that the brother and I have similar tastes in party venues, which could make for a precarious situation.

I haven’t seen him in person since the middle of 2007. It’s been two years. If I saw him, how would I feel? What would I say? Would he look the same? Smell the same? If I hugged him would I feel the same? Would I feel like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders? Would our encounter bring back all the memories of our bad times, and cause me to have a new appreciation for the single life when we parted company? Or would I look at him and realize that I have some regrets, and then I’d discover that deep inside… buried beneath my disdain for him was a small part of my heart that wished things could’ve worked out between us?

Well, it turns out I wouldn’t have to find out.

I made it through the entire weekend unscathed… no Mr. Ex OR Mr. Ex’s Brother sightings. When I crawled into bed at 3am on Sunday morning, I breathed a sigh of relief that I didn’t have to face him. Upon further reflection, I’m not sure that I’m ready to see him. Even all these years later. He cut me deep. And the wound, although far from fresh, has not fully healed.

Another Monday comes and I make my way to lunch with the Girl from Marketing. I was waiting in line to pay for my food with my Crackberry buzzes, I break it out and check my messages and feel nothing but annoyance when I discover that a text message from Mr. Ex is waiting for me. This dude does NOT give up! WTF?! Turns out it’s actually a 4-screen text, which is equivalent to a modern-day 4-page letter (R.I.P. Aaliyah), explaining that he still loves me and desperately wants us to be friends. I waited almost four hours to send a response and when I did, I was disappointed that there was no real venom in my words. I just don’t have anything left for him. He’s literally drained me of all emotion. I have no passion, no zeal when it comes to him. I basically just told me that, as usual, he’s about a week late and a couple hunned bucks short, and that I wish nothing but the best for him, but I respectfully request that he leave me alone.

I’m ready to move on with my life. In fact, I’m not just poised and ready, I’ve already done it. I have never been so happy to see a person in my rearview mirror, but I see him back there, running behind the car, refusing to let me go. Man… eat my dust!

So, anyhoo, since Mr. Ex there have been a couple of men who’ve taken my heart by storm. I saw this tweet earlier today that was so poignant: “Hearts will be re-broken in an effort to heal properly.” It’s so true. My heart broke, only to become whole again. And became whole again, only to be broken into a million little pieces by someone else. But that’s life, right? We live, we laugh, we love, we cry, only to do it all over again.

Truthfully, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Why "settle" is not a dirty word

Alright, so obviously I totally dropped the ball on reporting about my diet on a daily basis. Given my post history, I should’ve known that I wasn’t going to follow-through with that! Before I go into today’s post, let me give a brief update about the new eating plan. So far, I’ve lost a grand total of 11 lbs, and I’m going into my fourth week on this program. I’m VERY pleased with the results and I’m looking forward to taking off a few more plans before I transition into a more normal eating pattern.

Right now, I’m eating roughly every two and a half hours, which averages out to about six times per day. Before I started this plan, I would’ve NEVER thought I could eat six times per day. I mean, I like to eat just as much as the next fluffy chick, but… six times per day is A LOT! My meals are so tiny, though, that six times is just right, and even though my meals are small, I’m never hungry because as soon as my stomach starts to rumble, it’s time to eat again. Hallelujah! I even managed to stay on this plan while I was out of town (my cousin passed away and my dad and I flew to his hometown for the funeral). I always, ALWAYS gain weight whenever I’m away from home, but this time, I lost a few pounds! Amazing!

Anyway, I plan to stick to this plan for a few more weeks because I’d like to lose at least another 10 lbs. I’m shooting for a grand total of 30, but I don’t know if I’m going to use this plan to lose all of it. I’m currently researching other options and might transition to something else before the month is over. We’ll see! I know that some people might advise me to stick to what I’m doing since it’s working for me. Why fix what ain’t broke, right? But, at the same time, I think the reason a lot of people end up cheating on diet plans is because they get bored. And this plan doesn’t leave me with a lot of options on a daily basis. I could see how one day I might just be like “Fck it!” and eat an entire pepperoni pizza. And that would just be sad! So, maybe it’s better to just find another diet plan that’s equally as good and go from there.

In any case, I’ll keep you posted about my progress and I’ll share information about the next plan I decide to try out.

Now… without further ado, let’s move on to today’s topic.

“Some people are settling down, some people are settling, and some people refuse to settle for anything less than butterflies.” – “Carrie Bradshaw”, Sex and the City

When did “settling” become a dirty word? I mean honestly, if you tell a woman she’s “settling”, it’s like you’ve called her a btch or something. It’s just become a nasty term and I’m not sure why.

The quote above (in bold) is a quote from my favorite TV character of all time, the ultra-fab Carrie Bradshaw from my favorite show, Sex and the City. And I totally understand where she was coming from with it. I mean, sure, I’ve dated guys that were only given the time of day because I was completely bored and needed something to do to occupy my time until the next Mr. Right came along. And, then, I’ve had those experiences where I date someone and immediately there are sparks (a.k.a. “butterflies”).

Admittedly, the butterflies are the better feeling (duh!), but Lord knows that those damn butterflies are elusive. They are RARE and it takes the perfect combination of a lot of factors to be all cosmically aligned before they make an appearance.

And what do you do if those butterflies are misleading. What if you meet someone, feel butterflies, and it’s obvious that the feeling is not mutual. That happens, too, and it SUCKS! Or, what happens if you meet someone, feel butterflies, he feels ‘em too, but sooner than later the butterflies fade? You went with your gut and your gut lead you in the wrong direction? You’re left alone with the memories of the butterflies and not much else.

Anyway, so I’m stuck in a predicament. Saturday night, I went out with my friend Teresa from law school, and I met two guys. Sparks flew with one of them… like, they were popping all over the place and even Teresa noticed. The other guy? Ehhh… not so much. But he was perfectly fine! He is a nice guy, respectable job, normal looking, pleasant smile, kind and courteous. The other guy is just… dreamy! I don’t use that adjective often, but… it’s true! He’s got all the things I’m looking for. He was smart, funny, kind, great career, etc., plus he was super-cute in a quirky sort of way (the guys that I’m most attracted to aren’t really “traditionally” cute). I liked him right off the bat for no particular reason at all. And he was so charming! We spent the evening, laughing and giggling, and while the other people around us were talking, we made faces at each other across the table.

So, here’s the thing… even though sparks flew between me and Prince Charming, he didn’t ask me for my number and I left without getting his. The next day, I took matters into my own hands and decided to let cyberspace bring us together. I immediately logged-in to Facebook, found his profile and sent a friend request with a short note reminding him of who I am. That was Sunday. Today is Wednesday and I still haven’t been confirmed as a friend. (Brown Girl Note: I swear that FB has changed up the entire way the dating game is played!)

Now, there are a lot of reasons why he might not have responded to my request. Maybe he’s not as stuck to FB as I am and logged in this week. If he has logged in, maybe he just hasn’t looked at his friend requests yet. Or, maybe… he’s just not as into me as I was into him.

Meanwhile…

Mr. Right Now called me Monday evening. He was very nice… nothing to complain about, but there definitely weren’t any sparks flying. He wants to hang out this weekend and I’m going to meet up with him and give him a chance. After all, personality matters most, and maybe after getting to know him, sparks will fly. But I’m still disappointed that I’ve been put on “ignore” by Prince Charming.

So, anyway, I told my girlfriend Monica that I’ve decided to go out with Mr. Right Now and she scolded me!

“Brown Girl, you’re settling! That is so upsetting… you’re better than that,” she said.

“Huh? Settling? Look, I’m not gonna stalk Prince Charming. There’s no point. I threw the pass and now he can either fumble or score. The ball’s outta my hands now.”

Monica let out a big sigh. “I just hate to see my girlfriends settle. I mean, it’s not like you could get somebody you actually like. Why go out with someone you’re not really interested in?”

“He’s fine! Nothing is wrong with him. No, I’m not crazy about him, but I wouldn’t say I’m ‘settling’. And, besides, what’s so wrong with settling anyway?”

Now, don’t crucify me for saying that, but in all honesty, I really do find it confusing as to why the settling thing is such a big deal. Obviously, everybody wants to fall madly in love with someone with the hopes of having that person be equally as mad about you. But, how often does that REALLY happen? When I was a kid, my dad told me to “like those who like you”. And, my Godmother told me that “In a relationship, there’s always a person who loves more than the other. Make sure you’re the one receiving the extra love and not the one giving it.” I’d never put much stock into either of these two pieces of advice. Why would I? I was young, and idealistic, and still had crushes that drove me to distraction.

These days I’m different. Some might call me cynical, or jaded. I’d say that the better word for all this is “realist”. The truth is that my Godmother is probably right. There are definitely people who are in lopsided relationships, and why not be the one to come out on top instead of being the one who is constantly getting kicked in the stomach by love?

In 2008, an article called “Marry Him!” was published in the Atlantic. The author basically said that women have two choices – either to be alone, or settle for someone who will marry them. And she argued that, really, there’s nothing horrible about settling for someone who loves you. She also said that she was tired of married people patronizing her about the fact that she was still single. And while her position was radical, controversial, and completely extreme… she made a whole hell of a lot of sense!

Anyway, the second it was published, it met a shitstorm of controversy. Women were emailing the article to friends, and posting it on blogs, and talking shit about the author and her position on the issue. But in reality, I think the article hit home for a lot of women. I mean, nobody WANTS to settle, but we’ve also got to recognize that women have been fed a line of bullsht about how we’re all princesses, and that one day Prince Charming is coming along to save the day. But when it’s time to fight the dragon and get rescued from the ivory tower, what if Prince Charming never shows up. Or, what if Mr. Right Now shows up before he gets there and does an adequate job of taking me away from alla dis here? Should I tell Mr. Right Now to keep it moving and stay locked in the tower until Prince Charming finally decides to show up (if he even shows up at all!)? I should think not!

But honestly, the most profound part of this particular article (in my opinion) is when the author says that many times we marry the person that we’re absolutely crazy about… but how do we know they’re not just “settling” for us?

That’s a rather UN “settling” thought, isn’t it?

If I decided to heed Carrie's advice, and wait until the butterflies show up again, I might be waiting forever! And besides, sometimes the butterflies are a little off schedule and show up when you least expect them. I'm not desperate for a man, but I'm definitely interested in dating one again some day! Whether women want to admit it or not, that is a priority for most of us. Let's be real with ourselves and others... everybody wants companionship. Nobody sets out in this cold, cruel world, intending to be alone...

So, I’ve given up on Prince Charming. Sure, it’s only been three days, but with communication being nearly instantaneous these days, I doubt he wants to connect… we definitely would have by now! And that’s fine.

Despite Monica’s tongue-lashing, I’m going to go out with Mr. Right Now and I plan on having a good time. Nobody is saying that I’m going to marry him (that’s certainly not in my plans), or even that he WANTS to marry me in the first place. After all, Mr. Right Now is a kind and decent guy (from what I can tell) who wants to spend time with me. And that’s what I need in my life… Right Now. ;)

Shallow like a kiddie pool

Welp! I’m still in mourning over Michael. That’s why it took me so long to come back to this blog and post something. I was emotionally-drained. I loved me some him. And now he’s gone. I was devastated! I didn’t think I’d be able to watch the memorial, but not only did I watch the live streaming coverage on CNN (brought to you by Facebook) DURING the workday, I DVR’d it and have watched it again several time since then. This can’t be healthy!

It was a life-changing moment, though… one that I will probably remember until the end of my days. And I’m not the only one who feels that way. On the night that Michael passed, the girls and I had dinner/movie plans. The details were sketchy and Michael’s death hadn’t been confirmed when we met up at the restaurant after work. While we were there, CNN broke the news that he had, in fact, passed away. We were sitting at the table, getting misty-eyed and talking about how unbelievable the news really was. Our cocktails arrived, and Teresa looks at me and says, “You know, no matter where life takes us, no matter where we end up, we will always remember each other because we were together when we received the news about Michael’s passing.” There was an empty water glass on the table, so each of us took a turn pouring out a little bit of liq for Mike and then we did a toast to him. Because the whole situation was putting a damper on the night and more than one of us were dabbing at our eyes with our cocktail napkins, we dashed off to see “The Hangover”, which left us crying (but this time because of laughter!).

But I am comforted in knowing that I’m not the only one who’s obsessed. The media can’t keep his name out of their mouths, so this will be an ongoing topic of conversation for the foreseeable future. There’s no doubt about that. But, I vow that I won’t dwell on it for too much longer. Instead of mourning so hard, I should just be celebrating the fact that God blessed us with such a tremendous talent. And for that, I am truly grateful.

Now, on to today’s post…


Major personal admission forthcoming:

I once broke up with a guy b/c he owned a cat. Okay, actually, he owned TWO cats, which turned out to be a problem for me. In my opinion, a straight guy wouldn't own a cat. And, if he wouldn't own ONE cat, he damn sure won't own TWO. I called him "Cat Daddy" behind his back. Not only did this dude just own the cats, he was also borderline obsessed with them. He gave them real names (Serena and Angelica), and he would talk babytalk to them and coddle them like toddlers. But they were cats. That sht was lame. And so I broke up with him. Now, of course, I didn't tell the dude that the reason he didn't stand a chance with me was because of his taste in pets. At the time, I made up some other reason for why things wouldn't work out (I can't remember exactly what I said), but we went out separate ways and I didn't miss a beat. And one day years later I was having a cup of coffee and thinking about my life when a memory of Cat Daddy popped into my head and I realized that sometimes I am shallow.

Nobody WANTS to be shallow, but all of us fall victim at one point or another, and I was saddened to realize that I'm no exception. So, anyway, I was faced with my shallowness again recently. I met a guy. Nothing new. The Earth did not move, and sparks did not fly, but he was nice and he seemed really into me. We met halfway through a bourgeois happy hour and within an hour of the first word spoken between us, he handed me his credit card and told me to buy drinks for me and my friends. See? Generous. At the end of the night, I was still debating whether I would give him my number, but he asked for it so nicely I felt compelled to give it to him. So I did. He sent the first text before I even made it to my car.

I noticed that he didn't use any punctuation in the message. And, while this isn't, like, a dealbreaker, it also didn't really work in his favor. I couldn't help but think that Mystery Man texts in full sentences and uses proper grammar, too. And then, I admonished myself for using Mystery Man as the standard to which I compare every single man that I encounter. I gotta stop doing that! And anyway, the punctuation thing was annoying, but it was a text and everyone knows that you use shorthand in a text message situation. No biggie.

He called me a couple of times and the conversation wasn't terrible, but it also wasn't the most stimulating. We had a few laughs, talked again the next night and had a few more laughs. On the third day after we met, he sent another text:

Guy: How was your day (noticeably absent punctuation)

Brown Girl: Fine & yours?

Guy: Not to bad

I stared at the screen on my Blackberry for a while. Did this guy really just type "Not TO bad"? Now, anyone who knows me knows that I'm a stickler for grammar, punctuation, spelling, etc. (even though you can't always tell from this blog, which I rarely edit or proofread before publishing!) So, it bugged me that he hadn't used the right to/too/two. But, again, I tried to give him the benefit of the doubt. I mean, this kid was supposedly a college graduate, so it had to be a slip of the finger. The next day, he text me again.

Guy: Playin bball today what are you doin (noticeably absent punctuation)

Brown Girl: Brunch & movies with a friend. What time is your game?

Guy: At too but I shouldn't be done to late

Okay, now if you're like me, the "too" and "to" mixup jumped out at you right away. What does this guy have against the extra "o" on the end of that "too"? How could he mix up "too" and "two"?? To make a long story short, we exchanged text messages a few more times over the course of a few weeks, but I noticed that this guy was consistently challenged by the difference between to/too/two. I don't know what's so hard about it because it's something most people master in elementary school! EARLY elementary school at that. And the fact that he kept getting those three words confused really bugged me!

Eventually, the texts stopped coming. He'd initiated all of them anyway, and it was my duty to respond whenever one was received, but soon I stopped responding and he stopped initiating.

Now, the truth is, if I'd really been feeling this dude, I probably wouldn't have let his difficulties with the English language get under my skin. But since I was on the fence about him anyway, it was enough to push me over the edge into "not interested" territory. So, again, I'm faced with the realization that I'm somewhat shallow. But I think I'm justified in finding this whole to/too/two thing disturbing. I don't think it's unreasonable to desire a man who has a basic command of the English language. Do you?

For the record, I think the cat thing was worse. I probably shouldn't have ditched a guy because he was showing so much interest in his pets. It probably just meant that his heart was kinder than most... Oh well, that's water under the bridge now.

For what it's worth, I did feel bad about ditching the dude with the language issues, but I'm a writer who loves words and would prefer my partner to have a similar respect for the English language. I think to/too/two is setting the bar pretty low, actually, sort of a minimum standard. The next guy that I allow into my life should at least be able to tell the difference between the three. And, if that makes me shallow, then I'll be that.

Letting go...

I’ve been beating my head against the wall trying to formulate a five year and 10 year life plan. I want to set attainable goals and come up with the best methods to achieve them, but… this is really hard! A lot harder than I thought it’d be. And I’m beginning to realize that the reason why it’s been so hard for me to achieve goals is because I don’t really have any goals in mind! That’s scary! I was always the kid who knew exactly where I wanted to go and how I was planning to get there. And somewhere along the line, I lost my way. It makes me sad and scared and frustrated to think that I don’t have any clear plans for the future.

I really tripped out when I wrote out the heading for my plan

“Lovely Brown Girl
5 Year Plan
(Deadline: 2014)”

Seeing 2014 written out seemed so surreal to me! And to think that a date like 2014 is only five years away! That seems a bit crazy…

The only thing I do know is that in the next five years I’d like to be making more money… and I’d like to have a kid. And maybe be married.

Okay, I know what you’re thinking… that sounds backwards. The thing is, I KNOW I want to have a child. And I’d prefer to be married before that happens, but the likelihood that I’ll marry in the next five years seems particularly slim these days. I’m not giving up hope or anything, but it just seems so far-fetched!

The closest I’ve come to linking up with a guy who wanted to wife me was The Older Man. He was a really great prospect. He was mature (or so I thought), professional, spiritual, respectful, protective, kind, full of compliments, attractive, and marriage-minded. But, for some reason, even when things were good, I was constantly pushing him away. He even said that for some reason I loved to tell him no. Anything and everything he asked me, my answer was always no. And, even before things fell apart, that’s why we could never progress past a certain point.

This weekend, I sat back and reflected on all my past relationships and realized that none of them have been particularly healthy, which was, on the one hand, shocking; and on the other hand, not at all surprising. I analyzed every relationship I’ve ever been in… including those that were “unofficial” and those guys that I “just dated”. My dating relationship with The Older Man replayed itself and I had an epiphany of sorts: one of the reasons why I was never able to go with the flow of that relationship was because, in my head, I was still tied up in knots over Mystery Man. Even though I didn’t move forward with anything with The Older Man until Mystery Man made it clear that he wasn’t interested in pursuing anything with me, I hadn’t fully let go.

I realize now that wasn’t fair to The Older Man. Even if circumstances hadn’t gotten in the way, the potential seed of our destruction had always been there, lurking under the soil anyway. We never would’ve made it anywhere because he wasn’t the one I really wanted. And coming to that conclusion led me to another revelation: I was guilty of doing to The Older Man what Mystery Man had done to me. I’d moved into a new relationship too quickly. I’d thought only of myself, without taking the feelings of the person who really liked me into consideration. I’d tried to cover a fresh wound with the flimsy band-aid of a new relationship.

None of that stuff ever works. The only things that truly get a person out of your system are space and time. I didn’t give myself either of those things. Oh sure, I told him (and myself) that I needed space… and that he needed it, too. But I’m still his friend on Facebook… I still check in with him from time to time. I can’t seem to leave him alone. And, so, probably the next guy that comes into my life will meet the same fate that The Older Man met.

As I sat there thinking on these things, I started feeling overwhelmed. This was a lot of information to process… a lot of inconvenient truths made themselves apparent.

I still think about him a lot. I wonder whether he thinks of me. I wonder why all the things I hoped for with him never actually materialized. I wonder why he didn’t want those things with me at all. And, typically, by the time I get to that final question, I feel hurt and then… anger. But, for some reason this time, although the hurt was still there the anger had nearly dissipated. So, now I think I get it. The things I felt for Mystery Man… those are the same things he feels about his ex. The same way that I couldn’t move on from him… and couldn’t let The Older Man into my heart, that’s the same reason why Mystery Man kept pushing me away. I kept wondering how he could think I was wonderful, and beautiful, and smart, and funny, and all those things that he always said I was, but then couldn’t bring himself to be with me. How could I not see? I did and said all those same things with The Older Man. He didn’t stand a chance. I guess I didn’t either…

But, nothing I did was done out of spite. I never meant to hurt The Older Man and I didn’t mean to cut him out before he could even really take a shot at building something with me…. but I did. I hope I won’t make the same mistakes with someone else. And I hope that, if by chance I do make those same mistakes, that they will be patient with me and won’t hate me in the end.

I don’t hate Mystery Man… I don’t think I ever could. He’s a good person and will always have a place in my heart (just hopefully in the future not such a big place). And now that I’m getting a better idea of where he was coming from, I’m not even angry about the way that things turned out. I am finally realizing that, as tempting as it might be, you can’t hold someone’s love against them. He loves her and not me and, even though that seems unfair, I gotta just let that go.

And, so, I begin again.

Online Dating Bytes

Three new posts in as many days? I'm on a roll! I've got more to post, too! I should hold back and just post one every week and then at least I could be consistent, but... I'm gonna go ahead and post them as they come to me. I'm going to try to do at least two posts a week from here on out, but I've made that promise before... several times. And I've never held up my end of that bargain. So, I'm gonna stop lying and just commit to posting when I can. And hopefully "when I can" will translate to at least twice per week :)

As I was walking home from the train today, I was hit by the most overwhelming sense of loneliness! It was a gut-wrenching feeling that left me scared shitless. It’s not that I haven’t experienced this feeling before, but today I noticed it had a new intensity that I was not at all prepared for. I mean, I’m 30 fucking years old with no man in sight! To me, that’s sad. And it’s scary! If anybody had told me when Mr. Ex and I went our separate ways 2.5 years ago (describing it as “going our separate ways” makes it sound so civilized, and it really wasn’t at all) that I’d be single at 30 with no prospects on the horizon, I would’ve found that laughable. Today, it is my reality. And it sucks. Sometimes I’m okay with it… sometimes I’m not. Today was one of those “not” days. *sigh*

I guess that’s the same feeling (or something similar) that my homegirl was feeling when she notified me that she was going to start actively participating in online dating. I listed as she explained why she had decided to go that route and I actually provided her with some pretty sound advice on the issue. But I wish I could’ve been more supportive of her decision. It’s just that my homegirl is a black woman, and she’s seeking an educated black man. Online. And I have my theories about why she will be more likely to get struck by lightening than to find a man that meets her standards through an online dating site.

So, of course I’m not just going to tell you that I have theories about a particular subject and then not tell you the theories right?! Well, my main thought about this is that in theory, online dating is a great concept! It gives you an opportunity to make contact with a potential suitor… without actually having to make physical contact. That’s awesome! It also easily connects you with people that you might not ordinarily meet. For instance, maybe your soul mate lives in Philadelphia and you live in Atlanta. In the “old days” before the internet, you would only have a chance of meeting that person if you went to Philadelphia or if s/he ventured to Atlanta, or if a mutual friend introduced you… something like that. The chances that you’d cross paths with that person while sitting in your living room were pretty damn slim! But now, all you have to do is logon to Match.com or BlackPeopleMeet.com or Yahoo! Personals, set your search terms to meet your criteria, and you are instantly connected to likeminded singles around the world.

It works for a lot of people! On a weekly basis I read the B.I.O. section of the Washington Post Express, which is where the paper publishes wedding announcements. I would say that probably 80% of the people featured in B.I.O. met online! I also watch “Platinum Weddings”, “Bridezillas”, and “Who’s Wedding is it Anyway”, and a large majority of those couples also meet online. But the thing is, most of the people that publish their announcements in B.I.O. and are featured on those wedding-focused reality shows are… well… they are… not black. I’ve heard of and have known personally so many people who met their significant other/spouse on sites like J-Date or Match.com or whatever, but those people are all white!

See, black men… black men in DC especially… aren’t really hurting for dates. And, if they want to become involved in a relationship, it’s really rather easy for them to meet a very deserving woman just by walking out of their front door. It really is that easy. Around this town, a guy can trip over 10 beautiful, successful, educated, witty, and VERY SINGLE women just going from his house to the grocery store. The market is flooded with these types of women. And all these women are looking for the same (or similar) type of man. So, my thought is that any man worth his salt who even remotely meets the standards that women have set for being “eligible” won’t need the assistance of the internet to find a date.

I belong to this social group on Facebook that’s always sponsoring speed dating events in DC. Every time they host something, the group always sends out an email that says something like:

“Speed dating event in 2 days! Registration for women is closed. More men needed!!”

See how sad and pathetic that is? Women have overwhelmed the registration for the event while men are elusive. And if men know that tons of women are going to be in a given spot, why wouldn’t THEY be flooding the group with registrations? The answer is that men don’t need to participate in something like speed dating because they’re not desperate for dates!

So, what makes a man eligible? Well, if he’s employed, reasonably good looking, semi-literate, clean, and… well, really, for a lot of women, that’s about all it takes. Sad, huh? Yeah, the bar is set pretty low. I guess I should add “breathing” to the list. Anything else? Hmm… maybe I should add single, but then again, for some women that is not a requirement (shocking!). Any man who meets these minimum requirements probably has at least two women in the queue. While women who bring a lot more to the table than this are sitting around twiddling their thumbs on any given Friday or Saturday night.

But I digress…

Those same men are not going to end up paying money to participate in an online dating service when they can pull chicks for free. So who are the black men who actually throw dough at services like Match.com or Eharmony.com or BlackPeopleMeet.com? Outside of the (very rare) exceptions, the black men you’ll meet on the internet are likely womanizers, illiterate, seeking random sex partners, or socially-inept weirdos. That’s my theory, and I’m sticking to it.

I kept this theory to myself but I eventually ended up sharing it with my homegirl. Especially after she started sharing some of the messages she was receiving. Which proved my theory.

Like I said, in theory, internet dating is AWESOME. Like, I mentioned J-Date before. Just in case you were wondering, J-Date is a dating website that pairs up Jewish singles. My coworker met her husband on J-Date. My colleague who’s a few years younger than me met her fiance on J-Date. Apparently, she has three friends all around her same age who are all engaged and they ALL met on J-Date. After hearing these stories, I am thinking – wait a minute… you just go online, plug in your search terms and walk away with a cute guy and a 2-carat Tiffany engagement ring?

Sheeeeiiiiiiiit! (a la Clay Davis)

Sounds like a sweet deal to me!

I wish there was a J-Date for black folks. A B-Date, if you will. But unfortunately, as soon as sites pop up, they become hoodielicious (a word from my good friend) and or slutted out with people posting half-naked pictures and making open propositions about random sexual encounters. Just take a look at BlackPlanet. It has become a thugged out haven for illiterates and semi-professional prostitutes. And then, there’s BlackPeopleMeet.com. It started off pretty well, but as I was helping my homegirl sift through profiles on that site, I realized that none of the decent looking me on the site knew how to spell. But, wait… I guess that’s okay because it’s actually not one of the eligibility requirements I outlined above. *rolleyes*

I can’t tell you how many times a week I hear the question “Where are all the good black men?” It gets old. I’m tired of hearing it. And, I’m not one of those people who believe that there are no “good” black men out there. I think they’re out there... I just don’t think you’ll find him online.

Fanning old flames...

I just realized that I totally jacked up the formatting of my last post AND I cut off half of James's original article! But like I said, it was past 3:30 in the morning when I entered that last post and I hadn't slept all night. Then, in the middle of posting, my ride to the airport showed up and I had to jet... literally! Apologies, Jamesy! But I'm sure everyone got the gist and, by the way, I received a lot of positive feedback about your material. You can be a guest blogger @ Lovely Brown Girl anytime! :)

The 30th birthday celebration is officially over and the time spent in the Caribbean resulted in a delicious tan and five extra pounds!! But it was well worth it. I have NEVER had so much fun on a vacation. EVER! Glorious, glorious fun! The day after I returned to the States, I woke up with a fat lip, which then quickly progressed to a majorly swollen face! I was horrified when I looked at my reflection. I ended up calling out sick that day and spent the day icing my face and popping Benadryl like candy, but it was to no avail because the next day I woke up looking like Hitch! I'm telling you, my face looked a hot mess! So I called out again. At this point, I'm sure my boss thought I was making all of this up in an attempt to extend my vacation. But no such luck... I called out sick because I was really, really not in a position to show my face to anyone outside of my immediate family. My mother drove me to the doctor on Thursday and she kept stealing glances at me and making these weird faces (my mother is a lot like me in that she has a hard time controlling her facial expressions!). "Why do you keep looking at me like I'm some walking freak show?!" I snapped. "Sorry," she mumbled, quickly turning away. Yeah... my face was THAT bad. It was even beyond a face that "only a mother could love". My doctor, whom I ordinarily love, had very little to offer in terms of what was happening to me. She suggested that it could be a result of sun poisoning. And, believe me, I was definitely in the sun enough to have been poisoned. I was laying out from sun-up to sun-down, which was probably not a good idea seeing as I didn't use any sunblock the whole time I was away. (Hey, I am a BROWN girl, remember? We don't burn!) She also said it was possible that I could've gotten it from a tropical fruit like pineapple, or maybe, possibly I'd been bitten by some tropical bug during the night and my body was reacting. Whatever the case, I looked a hot mess and earned myself two additional sick days tacked on to my already too-long vacation and that resulted in a one-day work week that started and ended TODAY!

I still looked a mess when I walked in to work, but at least my boss knew I had not been lying to her. The minute I walked in, she gasped. Apparently, my face was taking everyone by surprise! But, whatever. She wanted me to come in to work, and I came in. Now, she was going to have to deal with looking at me all day. That's what she gets! I was sitting at my desk catching up on emails when an IM pops up from my friend Deon. D and I went to high school together and he's definitely a looker, but he just doesn't see it. An interested woman would have to hit him over the head with a frying pan before he would get that she was interested. He can be just that dense when it comes to affairs of the heart. That's why it didn't surprise me when I read this:

4:01 PM Deon: hey i got a message from a girl i went on a date with 7 years ago
on facebook
4:02 PM so im really confused
why she would contact me?
Brown Girl: lol
Deon: she is married w/ kids
BG: maybe she just wanted to say hi?
LOL
what did the mssg say?
Deon: Hi Deon,
I hope you remember me...it's Melissa!
We met about 7 years ago at the grocery store, went on a couple of "dates"...I've always wondered how you were. Let me know if you remember me, okay...
4:03 PM BG: uhh... clearly she's unhappily married?!
LOL
wow
Deon: theres more
BG: uh oh
4:04 PM ok
Deon: me: Yes it's me... How is everything?
her: I'm great. Married with two beautiful daughters, Krista is 4 and Grace is 2. I live in Delaware and I've been working at a hotel now for 5 years. How are you? Married? Kids? You still look the same...
Deon: Congrats on Marriage and the kids. I'm good. Single and living in DC
4:05 PM BG: k
i see where this is going
LOL
Deon: her: Still single, huh? I thought for sure you would be married with beautiful babies by now. I would love to see you and catch-up...I will be in DC on K Street next week for happy hour. A bunch of my friends and I are celebrating our birthdays with dinner and a little dancing. If you can make it, let me know...My cell number is XXX-XXX-XXXX
Deon: Things have been really busy lately...so I'll let you know next week
her: So, still single? I find that hard to believe. The Deon I remember was quite the charmer, witty, and has the most beautiful eyes ever!
4:09 PM BG: ooooh boy
yeah, that sounds like trouble
LOL!!
Deon: yeah ... thats what i thought as well
4:10 PM thought this was strange
not sure what to do about this

Wow. A MARRIED woman is making an attempt to link up with Deon - a single man she once dated - and proceeds to throw a slew of compliments his way in an attempt to lure him to the meeting place. I find it interesting that she would be so bold. And I wonder what would make Melissa contact Deon so many years later. Facebook and the internet, man... their power is often used for evil and not for good. But I just find stories like this so interesting. I mean, sure... I often think back to guys that I've dated in the past and wonder what happened to them. And sometimes, I even reach out just to say hey and see if anything interesting is going on with them. A handful of them were even cute and/or intriguing enough for me to be a little flirtatious when I reached out. But will I continue to do that sort of thing when I'm married? Geez, I hope not! And, believe it or not, it's not the first time I've heard something like this.

Several months ago, I had a conversation with Mystery Man about something similar. An old girlfriend from college emailed him out of the blue. This girl had broken his heart by dumping him for some jock and then marrying him a few years later. She'd Googled him and found his website and sent an email gushing about how she never should've married the jock and, instead, should've stayed with him. Clearly, she was unhappily married (with children), and she was mourning what "could've been" had she continued her relationship with MM. So, she tells him that she is coming to his city to visit an aunt in February and she hoped that the two of them could get together.

"You know she's making up a reason to visit. I bet she probably doesn't even have an aunt in your city?"

"You don't think so?" he asked.

"Heck no!" I laughed.

"So, when she comes to visit this phantom aunt, are you going to see her?"

"'Phantom' aunt?! That's funny!" he says.

"Well, are you?"

"Probably not. I might have to travel for work that weekend. Or at least that's what I'm going to tell her."

Dude, what?! "Probably not?!" This woman is married!! Anyway, I guess I shouldn't judge him because clearly she's the one who initiated this... and she's the one who is making up fake family members to visit in hopes of rekindling an old flame with her high school boyfriend.

Man, even though this happened days ago, I am still LOLing at unhappily married women contacting men from their pasts and making FB and email propositions. But actually, this is not a laughing matter. This is actually really, really sad. When your marriage is that bad, it seems to me that instead of trying to rekindle sparks, you should instead focus on either improving the marriage that you have, or taking steps to get out of it... BEFORE you go trying to start an extra-relationship with some old boyfriend. Granted, these two women are not representative of the myriad married women in the world, but the fact that I personally know of at least two who are trying to reconnect with old "friends" over the internet leads me to believe that this may be a pretty common occurrence.

I always knew that dating sucked, but... does marriage suck just as bad? I'm starting to lose hope again. *sigh*